


Monsters: Fact or Fiction?

by Blitzindite



Series: Rose Red [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Cherub Edgar, Demon Anti, Experimental Android Bing, Experimental Android Google, Gen, Ghost Chase, Ghost Eric, Ghost Shawn, Ghoul Yan, Horror, Paranormal Investigator Twins, Puppet Jameson, Rose Red - Freeform, Scientist Dr. Iplier, Shapeshifter Dark, Siren Silver, Skinwalker King, Sorcerer Jacques, Sorcerer Marvin, Trickster Wilford, Vampire Host, Vampire Schneep, Wendigo Bim, Werewolf Angus, Werewolf Jackieboy, monster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blitzindite/pseuds/Blitzindite
Summary: Ghosts and ghouls and demons, oh my! Once you hear the rumors often spun like age-old myths, it's up to you to decide if it's only that, or a true, far more sinister story. Keep the lights on, blinds closed, and don't stray into the woods alone. (Intro to Rose Red; will delve into the rumors and introduce our dear monsters~)





	1. Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo this is why Outside is late this week: I got ideas for a monster AU and really wanted to get them written down before I'd forget them. ^^"  
> This will be so much fun to work on between Outside chapters, though!!!  
> Also, a lot of these monsters are based off of their "Supernatural" counterparts at least partially!

**—SEPTICS—**  
  
**Central - sentient building, powerful magic**  
_The house is haunted, and sentient at the same time. Intruders never know which is what. Are the slamming doors, collapsing floors, and moving furniture the work of the house, or the ghost?_  
  
**Marvin - human, sorcerer**  
_He stayed behind even when the others had fled. Those in the city beyond knew he was powerful, feared him. They didn’t know the heart hiding out in the old home’s topmost floor._  
  
**Chase - ghost**  
_He still looked so young, as if his skin would be soft to the touch were it actually possible to touch him. His eyes, once so bright, held a cold hatred that had built over the months to follow Marvin’s passing; those eyes alone became enough to scare off many of the home’s intruders. His body was cremated, so no one understands how his spirit remains tethered to the house._  
  
**Jackie - werewolf**  
_The most human of the trio, and still anything but. The dark, coarse hair on his arms and hands draw the eye; his own the color of ice and almost seeming to glow in the darkness._  
  
**Henrik - vampire**  
_His eyes, which may have appeared a dark brown upon first glance, were really a deep red. His skin deathly pale, but without the veins to stand out against it as he lacked the blood for such a thing. When he smiled, sharp teeth glinted in the light of their fire._  
  
**Jameson - wooden puppet**  
_He looked relatively human, but upon closer inspection the wood grains of any visible “skin” would stand out, the joints in his fingers noticeable upon the discovery. His eyes were too dark and vacant, movements too jerky. It looked as if someone else were pulling his strings, and doing a poor job of it at that._  
  
**Anti - demon**  
_Cold eyes and the shadow of a form are often all that are visible of the Demon King. A cackle or mocking words often all that can be heard. He strikes like the cool edge of a blade long before his prey even knows he’s there._  
  
**Jacques - human, sorcerer**  
_They say he made a pact with the Demon King himself, and made the King’s first puppet as a gift. Puppetry is an art, after all, and the King adores his little Jameson Jackson._

 **Angus - werewolf  
** _The hunter became the hunted. Bitten by one of the very creatures he vowed to hunt, he stalks the woods far from any civilization. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but instinct can be oh, so hard to suppress._

 **Shawn Flynn - ghost** _  
_There’s a rumor about a cursed doll; that its creator was so proud of its turnout that he couldn’t let it go even in death. Many have tried to burn the doll, but it’s said attempting to do so only tempts fate with the creator’s spirit._ _

  
  
**—IPLIERS—**  
  
**Jim Twins - human, paranormal investigators**  
_Humans really should stay out of the business of the beasts to live among them. Too bad no one told the twins that._  
  
**Bim - wendigo**  
_It’s rumored that the woods beyond the abandoned Incorporated are the territory of a man who stooped to eating his own kind to survive a terrible winter. No one knows if the rumors are true because no one survives an encounter to tell._  
  
**Dark - shapeshifter**  
_A master manipulator, he often takes the form of his prey’s loved ones to lure them in. They never seem to realize it until it’s far too late. He’s grown successful by very literally tearing the competitors down._  
  
**Host - vampire**  
_His eyes taken by the very beast that turned him, he’s a walking nightmare for anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Empty eye sockets stare blindly while he relies on his ears and nose to find his prey._  
  
**King of the Squirrels - skinwalker (whippet)  
** _How was the family to know their loyal canine was really one of the beasts they feared? An accidental bite was all it took, and their “Princey” fled into the woods out of his own shame. Rumors say the dog-man has taken to living near squirrels, and fights tooth and claw to protect the dray._  
  
**Yan - ghoul  
** _He used to only feed on the dead. When he found his new fixation, however, he treated any who got too close to the young human as his next meal. What better way to get close to them than to take on the form of their best friend who made such a pleasant dinner for the creature the night before?_  
  
**Wilford - trickster**  
_A former show host, his interviewees started to have the strange habit of dying before he seemingly fell off the face of the Earth. No one knows where he disappeared to, but bodies have begun turning up with candy wrappers littered near disposal sights. It’s all fun and games until someone gets shot, after all._

 **Dr. Iplier - human, scientist**  
_A former surgeon, he turned to studying, and later experimenting on, genes with homemade machines; trying to find cures to any disease he could think of. His research led him to create Google, and later Bing, to aid in his search. His lab now lay abandoned, though people claim to still see lights on, or hear the sounds of tinkering from within._

 **Google - android**  
_It was the first successful creation of the scientist. It had a strange craving for killing that no amount of tweaking could remove, and some believe it’s the reason Edward hasn’t been heard from in many years. They say when you see his eyes glowing in the darkness, it’s already far too late._

 **Bing - android**  
_The scientist’s second successful creation. Friendlier than its original counterpart, it’s believed to be the more successful of the two. Everyone seems to forget that the two work in tandem, and seeing one surely means the other is close by and prepared to strike._

 **Ed Edgar - cherub** _  
People like to wonder why those with no chemistry find each other. Why they insist on being together when they’re really such a toxic match. Surely a Cupid wouldn’t create such a match, would they?_

 **Silver - siren** _  
_Singing can sometimes be heard deep within the woods. Those who refuse to follow it say that it changes between the voice of a man or a woman, tempts with songs of what one most desires. Those who do follow disappear into the shadows of the trees._ _

**Eric Derickson - ghost (teke teke)**   
_It is said that a young man was killed after falling onto the subway tracks beneath the city. The oncoming train never had time to stop: Effortlessly cutting his legs off and the man unable to be retrieved until long after he’d bled out. Now his spirit wanders; dragging itself forward and stealing the legs of those who opt not to run._

**Derek Derickson - human, salesman**   
_When the Teke Teke started appearing near its place of death, they say its first victim was its father: The very man to push him into the oncoming train’s path._


	2. The Cannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Animal Death, Language, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Concussion, Blood/Gore, Violence, Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/)  
> My first REAL attempt at horror! Hhhhh I hope it turned out all right! It’s harder to write than I thought. ^^”

_It’s rumored that the woods beyond the abandoned Incorporated are the territory of a man who stooped to eating his own kind to survive a terrible winter. No one knows if the rumors are true because no one survives an encounter to tell._

 

Laughter and whooping hollers as the man hoisted up his second pheasant of the day triumphantly. His brother’s dog wagged her tail as she trotted around his feet, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she looked up proudly at her retrieval.

 

“He’s a beaut!”

 

“Niiiice, Jay!”

 

The man, Jay, beamed at his brother and the man’s fiance. It had been _years_ since he’d last gone hunting, and they were both decent-sized birds perfect for cooking.

 

Stooping to pick the other bird up that he’d set near his feet, Jay held one in either hand with his gun slung across his back. Their shadows were stretching as the sun sank below the treeline. He couldn’t help but frown as he glanced up, squinting at the receding light. Far in the distance, the silhouette of the old Incorporated painted itself into the darkening sky.

 

“We should head back ‘fore it gets too dark.”

 

The other two nodded and hoisted up their own catches and the trio, dog trotting at her master’s heels, started the trek back to their pickup. They were laughing, grinning, the brothers nudging each other and the dog giving happy little barks.

 

It came to a point the three stopped to dig through their light packs to retrieve headlamps, and the dog started barking at the lights. There was still a small amount of light, but it wouldn’t be much longer before they were tripping over their own feet.

 

“Bailey!” the men both laughed as the trio shouldered their packs and picked their guns and catches back up.

 

The dog now barking occasionally and chasing the lights as the trio tried not to trip over her, there was a collective sigh when they reached the truck. The temperature was dropping now, and none of them were equipped for it. Time to head home and curl up under some blankets with warm food.

 

The pheasants and packs were put in the bed, and Bailey lunged into the back seat as soon as a door was opened for her.

 

Nudging him with a sharp elbow, Jay’s brother grinned. “Not bad for an old guy.”

 

“Two years older than you!” Jay huffed and started patting his pockets for his cellphone. “Y’know—oh, where… Shit.” At the other two’s quizzical looks, Jay shook his head and muttered under his breath. “Oh, I must’ve dropped my phone somewhere on the trail. Just lemme go—”

 

“Jay, it’s dark,” the woman protested. “We can come back in the morning to look.”

 

“I’ll only be a few minutes!” Jay was already turning on his heel to jog back down the trail before either could protest. “I’ll come back in ten if I don’t find it!”

 

“We can’t be out here at nigh— Ugh, Jay!”

 

Waving dismissively, the man disappeared down the trail. Shouldn’t be too hard to find it, he told himself. His headlamp would easily reflect off its smudged screen or shiny plastic case. Shouldn’t take too long.

 

Head swinging from side-to-side as he scanned the game-worn path, hyperfocused to see anything remotely shiny, he let out a yelp and scrambled backward when a pinecone landed at his feet. He glanced up, headlamp illuminating the pine and oak trees around him. They were rustling as the breeze picked up and started to chill the night air. A shiver passed down the man’s spine and all he could do was hug his light jacket around himself. He checked his watched and groaned internally. Three minutes. That’s all that had passed?

 

The man started jogging again in an attempt to warm himself up. That, and he really just wanted to get back to the truck.

 

“Fucking…” He rubbed his hands together. It was already getting too cold.

 

Cursing and mumbling to himself as he tried to squeeze warmth back into his fingers, he glanced up briefly to sidestep a half-felled tree.

 

What greeted him instead had him freezing in his tracks and clumsily juggling his gun off of his back. A low growl rumbled before the area went deathly quiet when he met eyes with the… _thing_.

 

Frostbitten, grayed skin reeked with the stench of decay; emaciated form visible under the tatters of…what? Why did it wear anything for that matter? Yellow-white eyes almost glowed in the darkness as its hunched form remained so still it might as well have been a statue.

 

Jay swallowed around the lump in his throat. His hands shook so badly he couldn’t even hold his gun level to the beast. The slightest twitch of its fingers, claws glinting in the light of the man’s headlamp, had Jay jolting back a step as quivering hands tried to hold the gun steady. It seemed too cold in his hands; too heavy as nausea bubbled in his twisting stomach.

 

While the human trembled, the beast barely moved a muscle.

 

He’d heard the rumors of this very creature. Had always been skeptical about them. Werewolves were proven. Vampires, tricksters, ghosts, cherubs: All real. With real remains, real photos, real proof. But only rumors existed of the _thing_ before him. Some didn’t even believe it was real.

 

But only a fool would test the rumors and risk one of the other creatures that lurked in the shadows getting its hands on them. Only a _fucking fool_ would go back for a damned cellphone of all things after night had already fallen.

 

Before him stood a wendigo. A creature that could outrun him in a few swift strides. Could tear him open like a wet sack of flour, shatter his bones as if they were glass.

 

When the creature bared sharp, yellowed, stained fangs, Jay flinched. Its feral growl rumbled so deep in its chest the man swore he could feel its vibrations through the air. It tilted its head, eyes remaining locked with the man’s. Its ears were pricked as if it could hear his thundering heart. It probably could, really.

 

The wendigo sank into a low crouch. Was it smiling? Dry, cracked lips stretched from ear-to-ear, wrinkles creasing the corners of its eyes; it was far too human an expression. The frames of broken glasses rested crookedly on its nose, pieces of cracked glass catching the light of the headlamp and creating strange lines over the beast’s face.

 

Steeling himself, the man poised his gun. Running would be a horrible idea, but maybe if he—

 

Long before his trigger-finger could so much as twitch, the air was forced from his lungs and weapon wrenched from his hands. He whined as the back of his head hit the ground; a sharp pain throbbing the back of his skull. It went quiet for far too long, the only sounds being from Jay as he wheezed for air and tried to clutch the back of his pounding head. His limbs didn’t want to cooperate, arms moving at a snail’s pace; vision swimming and distorting the branches high above his head as his light shined into them. It was almost too bright, and he flinched away from it even knowing it would follow him.

 

It was only when he tried to sit up that cold hands snaked around his neck and slammed his head back into the ground. He choked out a yelp as blood welled at the back of his head; stained his cap and made his hair stick to his neck. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst right out of his chest.

 

The beast’s lips were moving, but the man couldn’t make out anything over the sound of his own heart and the ringing in his ears. With heavy arms, Jay struggled to bring his hands up to grip the wendigo’s wrists. They were bone-thin, the man’s fingers easily wrapping all the way around, yet no amount of tugging would make the emaciated creature so much as budge. It easily dragged him up to be nose-to-nose with it as it smelled him; he gagged at its foul breath, at the stench of its rotted skin, at its fingers tightening around his throat with a strength it shouldn’t have been able to possess.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to cry out when the back of his skull all but shattered with its next impact with the ground; as the creature effortlessly crushed his windpipe and he was left to silently wheeze for the air that could no longer come. The wendigo tilted its head as it watched the light die from the man’s eyes and his twitching form fell still.

 

Humans were just too easy a thing to prey upon…

 

Come morning, all the search team would find were an orange cap, broken shotgun, an area stained with blood and small scraps of the man’s clothes. The beast would make sure of that. Would make sure not a thing went to waste and went toward attempting to sate the wendigo’s endless hunger. It didn’t seem to notice, nor care, that a few meager feet away was a smudged cellphone that would light up with new, questioning texts from the man’s brother and his fiance.

 

As the beast circled its meal, the man’s headlamp reflected off the old, scratched name tag pinned to the tatters of what was once a pristine black suit: “Bim Trimmer.”


	3. The Blind Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I discovered with Bim's part that horror is a lot of fun??? I'll probably be trying out some different things with the monster AU to expand my horror writing; this part was a lot of experimenting. ^^

_His eyes taken by the very beast that turned him, he’s a walking nightmare for anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Empty eye sockets stare blindly while he relies on his ears and nose to find his prey._

 

The radio host’s voice was smooth. Velvet. Each annunciation so careful and on point that it was almost as if the man was created for that, and that alone. He spun dark tales for those up late, or looking for a good scare. Tales of mystery and murder, things that lurked in the woods, corruption and lies. His listeners could hear the way a smile ghosted his lips, or that his teeth bared when his voice dipped low and growling to give them chills.

 

They couldn’t see the man behind the microphone. He’d never shown his face to the public, never shared his name. They knew him only as “The Host.”

 

“The Host welcomes you to Story Hour.” His fingers ghosted over the papers in front of him; not one with a drop of ink as he read with his hands instead of his eyes. “Here are stories of murder, monsters, and mystery. Dark tales spun in the dead of night. Keep the lights on, blinds closed, and don’t stray into the woods alone.”

 

Everyone knew who offered the funding for the station. They knew its face. But they didn’t know who was behind the voice of the station’s Story Hour. They couldn’t see the bandaged eyes, or the long, nimble fingers that read the braille before him. They didn’t see the patched trench coat hanging off the back of the man’s chair, or his neatly pressed but stained button-up. What it was stained with, only he knew.

 

They didn’t see the dark, empty room he spoke into; the only light being from the recording equipment pulled close. It wasn’t like he could tell the lights were never on, of course. They could hear how empty the room was by how his smooth voice echoed, or how the door that creaked when it was opened sounded so far away and nearby at the same time.

 

The Host spun a tale of a man lost to the woods, smiling to the listeners who would never see him, nor he them.

 

He spoke of how the man stumbled, how the chill night air started to bite. How something lurked just out of his sight; watching, waiting, for him to lower his guard.

 

He dragged too-long nails over his desk, words to the microphone dipping low and rumbling. His lips curled up as he imaged the jump it gave his listeners, or how they may have whirled on their radio, or laptop, or television at the sudden change of pace.

 

“Running,” he growled, “running. And still his steps couldn’t carry him fast enough.” He leaned in closed to the microphone as he abandoned his papers. He didn’t need them any longer. “With every step he took, it gained two more. He could hear it; slipping through the brush. Gaining speed; the space between them ever-shrinking. He could hear it; growling. Panting. Hungry.” He drew out the last words, voice gravelly it dipped so low.

 

Head tipping, his sightless stare looked beyond his recording equipment. He wore heavy headphones that nearly fell off with the motion; turned so they only covered one ear. In the other, was a Bluetooth. It was to that Bluetooth that he listened closely.

 

He heard it all as it happened; as his old friend murmured to him everything in a strange language of growls and chittering. He listened as the hunter gained on its meal; relayed every gory detail to his eager listeners who were none the wiser. As far as they knew, it was just a story, after all.

 

His lips pulled at the desperate cries of the human over the Bluetooth; at the feral growls and hissing of the ghoul as it pinned the man. He listened to the ghoul’s words in that alien language; relayed it all to his fans. Told them how the creature tore into the man’s chest; how it effortlessly snapped his ribs, pulled them apart with a strength beyond any man.

 

The Host swallowed past his own hunger as the ghoul tore into the man; feigned a smile as he ended the story and thanked his listeners. Feigned a smile even as hunger twisted his gut and he had to keep from growling until the microphone was off. The Bluetooth followed thereafter.

 

The thought of getting out of the empty studio and hunting was enough for the Host’s chest to rumble with a growl; for his fangs to protrude and gnash together. He could already feel soft flesh tearing under his hold.

 

He could already imagine his prey running; praying that they could outrun a blind beast. He could already smell their fear, their sweat; hear their heart pounding, coursing blood through their veins.

 

He slipped out of the studio silently, prepared for a chase.


	4. The King and the Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Non-Explicit Nudity, Starvation, Character Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I was going for here because I just starting writing whatever, but apparently King and Silver want to be friends in this AU? Works for me!  
> And yes, even in this AU Silver’s a sweetheart when he can be. He may not be my favorite Ego, but you can tear selfless Silver out of my cold, dead hands

_How was the family to know their loyal canine was really one of the beasts they feared? An accidental bite was all it took, and their “Princey” fled into the woods out of his own shame. Rumors say the dog-man has taken to living near squirrels, and fights tooth and claw to protect the dray._

_. . ._

_Singing can sometimes be heard deep within the woods. Those who refuse to follow it say that it changes between the voice of a man or a woman, tempts with songs of what one most desires. Those who do follow disappear into the shadows of the trees._

 

 

Princey. That had been what the humans called him. The humans who fed him; loved him like family. Made sure he was groomed, and that his bed was close to the fireplace without being too close. The little girl would play dress-up with him; try to fit a crown on him even when his head wasn’t shaped for it and it would fall off. The older boy would play fetch and tug-of-war.

 

Princey. It didn’t…sound familiar anymore. Princey was a loving house pet, not… _this._ He hadn’t meant to bite the adult man, the father, honest! Guilt twisted his gut. The man had probably been killed by hunters by now after he’d turned.

 

He bared his teeth when his stomach growled. No more handouts, he thought bitterly. But he didn’t know how to hunt. He didn’t—

 

A low whine and he wrapped his arms tightly around his gut. He was already dizzy from the collar practically strangling him; the hunger wasn’t helping.

 

He’d always known what he was. That didn’t mean he knew how to hunt. Not when he’d been pampered from the time he was just a puppy.

 

Goosebumps passed over the man’s bare body as the wind picked up to chill his frame. Night was falling and temperatures dropping. That would make…how long? Three days? Four? that he’d been on the run. That he’d been without food. He curled against the tree trunk, bark painful as it scratched against exposed skin. His collar was too tight, the tag too cold, against his throat, but broken nails and scraped fingertips made it hurt too much to remove the blasted thing even as it choked and bruised.

 

Footsteps against the ground beneath him made the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand on end and a weak growl catch in his throat. Quiet, quiet! Avoiding anyone was why he was in the tree in the first place!

 

He kept his head low as he peered down at the figure below him; it had stopped, and he could hear it smelling the air. It wore almost all white, while their dark hair stood out against the pale color. And…they were humming. It was such a soft, pretty sound. The man felt…calm. Relaxed, when he heard the sound. It was the first time in days that he felt the tension ease from sore muscles.

 

When the figure look up and locked eyes with him, however, he froze. His breath caught in an already-constricted throat and had he been in his canine form, his tail would have tucked and ears pressed against his skull. All he could do was make himself look as small as possible and duck back behind the trunk.

 

“Now, easy there.” The figure’s eyes were such a strange, dark color; the voice gentle and almost melodic. He could just imagine them singing beautiful songs. If they weren’t singing already? It was so hard to tell; their voice sounded so strange, but alluring. Promising things that they didn’t even have to speak of. “You’re hungry.” He found himself nodding in agreement and whined when his stomach growled again. “Would you come down?”

 

He tried to climb down carefully. He really did. One slip was all it took to send him falling to the ground with a yelp. He wheezed when it knocked the wind out him, whimpered at the sharp pain in the arm he’d landed on. The…the…what were they, anyway? He wanted to call them human, but…something wasn’t quite right about them. It was as if a human had been explained to something that had never seen one, and it had attempted to take the form of one. It was…too perfect. Sculpted instead of natural.

 

He wanted to flinch away, but their voice kept him still as they placed a hand against the faint brindle markings on his back, and the other on his arm.

 

“Can you speak?”

 

Speak? He whined, but the bark wouldn’t come in his current form. That’s what they meant, right? Speak meant bark!

 

The other furrowed their brows, then reached for the tag at his throat; touch careful when he grimaced at the brush of fingers against his bruised neck. They mouthed the name, then met his eyes again. “You don’t want to be called this.” It was a statement; how did they know that? “May I call you King for now?” He nodded. King. Yes, he liked that name. “Let me get this off…”

 

The man—King—gasped and started coughing when the collar fell away. His Whippet form, it was a perfect fit; slightly too big, even! But in the form of a man…not so much. He rested his head against the cool ground as he swallowed deep breaths and the other rested careful fingers against the dark bruise ringing his neck. Their touch was warm against the mark, and King allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment.

 

“King?” They waited until he looked up. “My name’s Shepherd. Could you change form for me? I have somewhere safe I can take you where you can eat and recover.”

 

At the notion of food, King’s eyes widened.

 

The shift into his canine form hurt, and he had to wonder if he’d broken his arm. He didn’t have to bother standing, though. Shepherd was removing their coat to wrap him in it and picking him up gently. They started humming again, and the Whippet let himself relax to the sound and sway of Shepherd’s steps. He let his head dip down and hang loosely, sighing through his nose at the warmth from the jacket around him.

 

Big brown eyes would occasionally glance up at Shepherd with a tilt of the head. King felt he should know what the other was. Maybe he’d heard someone talk about their species. He closed his eyes; listened to their humming. It was all he could hear unless he forced himself to focus on something else. It was practically like he was hearing it in his head. Even without words, it convinced him to stay relaxed; to trust the other and have no fear. Promised safety, and a home if he so desired. What were…oh!

 

A smile crossed Shepherd’s lips in affirmation to the canine’s thought. A siren. That’s what they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King's based on Norse folklore/Supernatural skinwalker combinations.  
> Shep's based on mythology/Supernatural siren combinations.


	5. The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suicide Mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have some angst and (tiny bit of) fluff. :D

_He stayed behind even when the others had fled. Those in the city beyond knew he was powerful, feared him. They didn’t know the heart hiding out in the old home’s topmost floor._

 

Pale eyes flickered throughout the room; sad, searching, from behind a worn mask. He’d never disturbed the items abandoned in the living room he so rarely frequented anymore. It hurt too much to see it. To remember what used to be.

 

The building groaned as if it could feel the sorcerer’s heartache. Marvin swallowed, feigned a smile, and rested a hand against the door frame. _“I’m okay,”_ the touch said even as his eyes wouldn’t leave the room.

 

Jackie’s hoodie lay in a pile on the recliner. He’d taken it off when he’d gotten hot. He’d grinned as he threw it at Marvin. He’d never retrieved it, and there it remained after so many years of the man-turned-wolf fleeing to the trees.

 

Jameson’s watch rested on the coffee table. He’d checked the time and set it down as he laughed at something Henrik said. It was…god. It hadn’t been long after that he’d been turned to wood. Marvin’s heart broke every time he remembered the terrified look in Jamie’s eyes. The sorcerer wrapped his arms around himself. He’d…he’d managed to bring Jamie back to life, but could never find a way to turn the puppet back into a man. And then he just…disappeared. Marvin dearly hoped Jamie had found Jackie or Henrik.

 

Henrik’s glasses glinted in the room’s light; drew Marvin’s eye from their place on the couch’s armrest. He’d taken them off to lay down on the couch because he had a headache. Marvin wished he’s stayed there instead of getting up to check on noises from outside. Marvin hadn’t been there, but Chase had seen it from the window; the doctor trying to help what he thought to be an injured man. The vampire had been startled; Chase said it hadn’t even meant to bite Henrik. The doctor had opted not to return; likely for the sorcerer’s safety.

 

Then his eyes shifted to the nerf darts that had long since fallen from where they’d been stuck. He swallowed as his chest twisted. Most of the darts had been cleaned up, but there were those few none of them had wanted to disturb; they had been left alone under the side table, in the corner, under the chairs and the couch. Cleaning up the ones left in the way had hurt enough.

 

Sometimes Marvin could still hear the gunshot cracking through Central’s halls.

 

He swallowed and blinked back the tears as he leaned against the door frame.

 

Chase’s spirit hadn’t made itself known for a long time after the event. Jackie had already been gone by that point, and Henrik… The doctor had been the first to lay eyes on the ghost. Chase hadn’t seemed to understand why his friend seemed so…so _scared_.

 

They never did figure out what kept Chase tethered to Central.

 

The ghost was probably Drifting; the closest thing he would ever get to sleep. He could go days, weeks—even months or years in that state, and not even realize the passage of time. Marvin dearly hoped it wouldn’t be that long. Even with Central there to speak to and keep him company, it got awfully lonely without another body at his side.

 

“I miss them…” he murmured before he’d even processed the words.

 

The building creaked and living room light flickered. The door to the room swung slowly toward the sorcerer to gently bump against his shoulder.

 

Marvin leaned his head against the frame, not really caring that it put his mask astray. “I know. I know. Love you, too, Cents.”

 

How long had the building been one of his dearest friends? His lips quirked into a smile for the first time in a while. He so vividly remembered moving in and searching for roommates. The building hadn’t been fond of the intrusion at first and it had scared the wits out of the, at the time, wannabe sorcerer who’d started out as a fake stage magician. They’d quickly grown fond of each other through bickering and teasing.

 

Finally, Marvin grinned. Truly grinned. That seemed to be how most of his friendships started out.


	6. The Shapeshifter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Body Horror, Blood, Major Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An origin for how Shapeshifter!Dark got their primary two appearances, I guess you could call this? Mostly just more experimenting with horror. It’s fun, but very difficult for me to write!

_A master manipulator, they often take the form of their prey’s loved ones to lure them in. They never seem to realize it until it’s far too late. They’ve grown successful by very literally tearing the competitors down._

 

Dress shoes clicked smoothly over the hardwoods. The suited form was hard to see in the darkness of the home, though when it turned its head just right, its pupils reflected in the porch light shining through the door, the windows. It was searching. Those eyes scanning, its nose lifted to the air not out of smugness, but rather to smell. It took long, deep breaths as its head pivoted about the room.

 

The thing was so human, yet…not. Its ears came to the slightest of points, its skin a sickly gray, and mouth filled with sharp teeth. The pristine black suit seemed so out of place. Made it seem far more human than it truly was.

 

The young woman didn’t make a sound from the coat closet as she watched the creature through the cracks in the old wood.

 

She flinched at a loud thud from upstairs and was forced to cover her mouth to keep from crying out as the beast turned sharply toward the stairwell. Its reflective eyes peered up before it took the steps two at a time.

 

The woman backed into the coats; flinched with every footstep above her head and held her hands across her mouth with bruising force. Her brother was hiding up there somewhere. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently begged for the thing not to find him. Please, please, don’t find him.

 

She sank down as the thudding steps continued; no longer smooth and collected as they were before. The creature was now on the hunt, and making it known. She went over names in her head, over and over again. What was it? What creature had broken into their home?

 

She squeaked and shrank back at a crash from right over her head. She could hear her brother shouting, the beast growling, furniture being overturned. The desk in her office sounded like it was broken in half, as if it would break right through the floor and crush her, when it was thrown. That…it was solid oak! It shouldn’t have been able to lift it, let alone _throw_ it!

 

What was it? What was it? Oh _god, what was it?!_

 

Pulling the coats around herself, she backed into the corner of the little closet. She could hear her own heart beating, and it seemed so loud that she half-feared the creature would hear and make its way back down the stairs while leaving her brother in…whatever shape he was in. Tears tracked down her cheeks at the thought as she choked on a frightened sob.

 

Stay quiet. Don’t…don’t let it know you’re here.

 

One last thud from upstairs, then silence. She was trying so hard to stay silent. Don’t make a sound, don’t alert it, don’t…

 

Footsteps. Rushing down the stairs; skidding and running into the kitchen furniture. Heavy breathing, and—

 

“It’s…it’s dead! It’s okay, it’s okay!” Her brother, panting as he dashed through the home’s bottom floor. Frantic as he tore open doors and ducked to check under tables and desks. “Where…where are you? Oh, god, oh, _god!_ It didn’t get you, please tell me it didn’t—”

 

“No! No, no, I’m here, I’m here!”

 

She burst out of the closet, tripping over coats and boots and only her brother’s hands keeping her from falling to the hard floor. Curling her arms around his back, she buried her face into his chest.

 

“What _was_ that thing?”

 

“I…I don’t know.” She could feel him shaking his head. His arm held her tightly around the shoulders; free hand tangled in her hair. “I don’t know…”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Your office. Up-upstairs.”

 

“How did y—Damien! You’re bleeding!” She pulled away from him so she could press a hand firmly to his side. She met his eyes for the first time, only then noticing blood smeared his face as well. His brown eyes were wide. As if the outburst surprised him, or maybe he hadn’t realized.

 

“No, no, I’m okay,” he insisted. “It just…scratched me, I think.”

 

“This is a _stab!”_

 

Damien pulled his hands away from her. A short strand of her hair caught around his fingers and snapped with the motion. He blinked down at it before curling his fingers around it almost possessively. “I’m okay!”

 

“No, you’re not! Damien, you need help!”

 

“Celine.”

 

The voice to growl back at her wasn’t her brother’s. It was her own.

 

She could have sworn her blood froze right then and there.

 

Damien’s hands rested on either side of her face, and frightened eyes met her brother’s big brown ones. …Big brown eyes reflecting in the porch light from outside.

 

His—its—fingers tightened their hold, nails digging into her skin.

 

Shapeshifter. That’s what it was. Oh, god. Her…Damien. Her brother. He was…he was dead in the office, wasn’t he? Celine could feel more scalding tears run down her face.

 

One twist was all it took. To one side, faster than she could blink, the shapeshifter snapped her neck and let her limp body hit the floor.

 

It tilted its head slightly before turning its attention to the strand of hair clutched tightly between its fingers. Its fingers splayed wide, the hair curled into the center.

 

_Crack!_

 

The creature groaned as its skeleton contorted with snapping and cracking and skin stretched and tightened to put strain on the wound in its side. It scratched at its face; nails digging into the first layer. They pulled at it. Peeled away long chunks that plopped and stuck to the wood floor. It scrubbed its sleeves over its face; scraped the rough fabric over its nose. Scraped away the last of its previous skin, rubbed away the blood left after shedding.

 

It repeated the process at its neck, then its hands. The skin to fall around its feet was so smooth on the underside that it seemed almost slimy, and it squelched when dress shoes stepped on it carelessly.

 

Dark eyes looked down on their new lookalike. Celine’s own were wide and glazed over; her mouth slack and neck twisted unnaturally. Damien looked much the same upstairs.

 

Dark eyes flicked up to scan the rest of the room around it. …Dark. Its—her—brows raised. She pulled at the lapels of the now-too-large suit jacket, brushed the flakes of skin left on the sleeves or that had fallen onto the collar.

 

Dark. She liked the sound of it.


End file.
